"Precisely. My job is scouting. Not yours."
"We are permitted to wander," Ashyn said evenly. "We're both armed with blades, and we have our bond-beasts. However, we take your meaning, and we'll return to the convoy now."
"Wait," he said. "I've spotted a camp. It's . . . not right."
"How?"
"Is the prince still resting?" he asked. "Moria can ride back for him," Ashyn said. "I'll wait with you and--"
"You can both ride back for Tyrus. I'll go on ahead. You'll see the camp to the east of the road."
EIGHTEEN
Tyrus found them before they made it back to the others. Ronan had been right that they'd see the camp without further instructions. When Ashyn spotted smoke, she picked up her speed, but as soon as they crested a small rise in the road, she could see it was simply a campfire.
"Why is it smoking so much?" she said.
"I suspect that's what Ronan meant by something seeming wrong," Tyrus said. "They might as well send smoke signals to bandits."
He spurred his horse, and they galloped the rest of the distance, with Tova and Daigo running alongside. Ronan waited ten paces from the camp. The tents were silent and still. There were three of them, just large enough to sleep in. No horses, carts, or other belongings in sight.
"Hello?" Tyrus called as they dismounted.
When no answer came, he waved Ronan in closer. Then he threw open one of the tent flaps. Moria was at his side, her daggers raised, Daigo alongside her. Ashyn stayed back with Tova.
"Empty," Tyrus said.
He checked the other two with the same results. Ashyn moved in for a closer look. Ronan crouched to enter the nearest tent, then announced, "It wasn't bandits."
"How--?" Ashyn began.
Ronan tossed out a full and fastened pack as he emerged from the tent.
"There are packs in these two as well," Tyrus said. "Untouched."
"And no sign of blood means it wasn't wild beasts," Moria said, stalking around the exterior.
Each tent had a single set of sleeping blankets, laid out as if for the night. Each also had a pack with a man's clothing in it. While the clothing was not fine--no one would travel in their festival best--it was well made of quality fabrics. They found money in the bags, too. Enough to travel on for many moons. Ashyn suspected the men had been merchants. Her father used to say that after selling his goods, he'd travel as inauspiciously as possible, presenting what seemed like a poor target for bandits.
Tova and Daigo went into the tents next. Tova snuffled about while Daigo gave dainty sniffs, as if both had understood Ronan's earlier complaint and now were trying to do their part. When neither looked alarmed, Ashyn knew they'd detected no traces of blood.
As the beasts came out of the tents, Tova stopped and lifted his head. He looked toward the woods and whined.
"Split up," Tyrus said. "Moria, approach from the north, Ronan, the south. I'll take it straight on. Ashyn? Ride toward the road and call a warning if our wagon draws near."
Ashyn stifled a sigh. While she didn't wish to be her sister, there were times when she'd rather be where the action was.
She mounted her horse and moved toward the road. The wagon and guards were still only dots along the horizon. She glanced back at the others as they approached the forest from different angles. When Tova grumbled, Ashyn said, "You can go with them if you like."
He grunted and lay down, and they both sat by the roadside, casting longing looks at the forest and dutiful ones at the slow-approaching convoy.
A cry sounded from inside the forest. Then the boom of Tyrus's voice, ordering someone to stay where he was. Running footfalls. The whistle of a thrown dagger. Daigo's snarl. A shriek. A crashing through the woods. A thump.
Tyrus appeared, his fingers wrapped in an old man's tunic, propelling him forward. Moria and Ronan followed. Daigo leaped into the lead and spun in front of Tyrus and his captive, as if ready to attack. As Tyrus threw the man down, Ashyn saw he was not as old as she'd supposed. Gray-haired, yes, but perhaps prematurely. He was dressed in a long tunic, as if he'd been roused from sleep and fled, his legs and feet bare and scored with scratches from the forest.
"Enough," Moria said, loud enough to be heard over the man's blubbering. "Do you know who holds you captive?"
The man twisted to look up at Tyrus. When he saw the lacquered wood cuirass, he hesitated, likely recognizing it as the armor of a warrior. He took in Tyrus's clean-shaven face and gleaming, tied hair. Moria cleared her throat and directed the man's gaze to the bare forearms holding the blade. The man stared. Blinked. Stared some more. Then--